All an Act
by Molly4
Summary: Lex's POV at the end of "Jitters" mostly stuff about his realtionship with his father. R


A\N: I swear I almost cried when I saw somebody had written about the last scene in "Jitters" and what Lex was going through. I worked for long and hard on this last night as soon as the credits rolled. So I don't want anybody to think I copied the idea. Sorry, I'm just a bit paranoid. :)   
  
Rated: PG-13  
  
Disclaimers: Own nothing.  
  
  
All an Act  
By: Molly  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Growing up with my father taking "care" of me was no walk in the park. Never did he tell me he loved me, never did he initiate any physical contact with me. He never hugged me unless he was opening some new branch of Luthor Corp. And wanted to appear a family man. Sometimes he'd even pretend to kiss me as he was cutting the red ribbon and everyone was clapping.   
  
First he's pull me into an awkward hug. Then he'd lean his face in real close and block everyone's view of us and hiss really softly, "Smile and do the same." And I would. Because I feared my father. He wouldn't bother to put on a show for me. But the public lapped it all up for awhile. Lionel Luthor, dedicated father, hard working business man, all-mighty god-like human being.  
  
Now that I think about it, Dad did hug me once, when Mom died. He even kissed me. It was the most awkward, uncomfortable, embarrassing hug and kiss I'd ever received. And you know what? I didn't even care because he was showing that he loved me. That I was more than just a boy he happened to live with when he wasn't out traveling the world. But now, remembering the way his arms came around me, and the rough feel of his lips on my cheek, I regret letting him touch me. Maybe it wouldn't hurt so much now, many years later.  
  
Dad hasn't changed a bit from his callous unfeeling attitude towards me. He does his little song and dance for the newsmen. I'm just his little excuse that gets him out of answering incriminating questions. It's all an act.  
  
All an act as he touches my face and tells me I look a little green. Insists that I come stay with him a few days to get over my shock. All an act as he pulls our "hug" tighter telling me how scared he was, and how he thought he'd lose me. That bastard! He'd let me die, but of course the public sees him as the concerned father he isn't. As usual Dad's used me to boost everyone's opinion of him.   
  
It's all one big fuckin' act as he tells me he loves me.  
  
"You shouldn't say things you don't mean," I whisper to him softly, He almost looks hurt for a second but quickly recovers with a smile. The cameras can't hear us. He doesn't care.  
  
Dad leans in and says right in my ear. "Shut up and tell me how much you love me."  
  
I can feel the bile rising in my throat as he says this. I can't say it. I can't even open my mouth, afraid I'll throw up over Dad's good suit he saves for special occasions like this. Dad ignores me and finally lets go. But not for long. A new reporter shows up and I'm wanted on stage yet again.  
  
And there, just a few feet away stand the Kents. They're happy and hugging, and Martha's even crying. It's not some kind of masquerade with them. They love each other.  
  
Martha plants a kiss on Clark's forehead and smiles. She tries to rub some of the dirt off his face by licking her fingers and rubbing Clark's face. Clark jerks away, but with a smile, and Jonathan gives his big, booming laugh.  
  
I feel a pang in my heart just then, remembering my own mother. She was like Martha is, always hugging me and kissing me, always there to comfort me when I had nightmares. Nightmares mostly about that day in the corn field. And she was always there with a glass of warm milk and some ginger snaps.   
  
After Mom died, the nightmares got worse. I had some awful ones about almost saving her from death. My fingers would slowly close around hers and then some force would push her away.....and I'd fall.......and fall.....and scream.....and scream. And dear old Dad he ignored my yells late at night. Luthors are supposed to be tough, he's say. Not scared. Luthors have to fend for themselves, not go crying to the nearest person who'd listen.  
  
Dad's ignoring of my constant nightmares made my problems multiply. I got awful night sweats, which turned into nightly bed wetting, which turned into shame and humiliation, which turned into depression, which finally turned into me falling so ill even Dad was frantic. For the longest time the doctors thought I'd die too. They thought I was so depressed that I'd kill myself. But who could blame me? Dad tried to make a joke of my problems. He used to remark on how much money he could save on sheets if I wore a diaper to bed. It was cruel, it was evil, but that was my dad. I think in a way, he didn't know what he was doing to me. He thought, in his twisted way, that he could make me so ashamed of myself that I'd just make myself get over it.  
  
During my stay at the hospital though, he's said he was sorry for everything he said. He'd even told me he cared about me. How I wish he'd tell me that now. No, not now, later. Later, when we're alone and news reporters aren't hanging on his every word. Tell me that he was sorry for everything he'd done to me, every way he'd made my life a living hell, and then tell me, oh, God, could he just tell me, that he cared about me? Is that so hard to say? He doesn't have to say love. I don't expect him to. Most Luthors aren't good with emotions. I don't expect him to just tell me he loves me just because he feels like saying it. Yet still I want him to tell me so. I want him to just say he cares for me. Say his heart would've broken if I'd died. Tell me Dad!! Dammit Dad TELL ME YOU'RE PROUD OF ME!!! That's all I want.   
  
I swallow a lump in my throat, fighting off tears. I see them again, the Kents. Their nice big happy family. Pa Kent leans over and kisses Clark on the cheek and Clark smiles. Not the embarrassed, 'Daaaaaaad, Lana might be watching,' forced smile followed by a quick glance around to see if anybody had been looking. It's genuine, it's pure. There's love between them. Clark doesn't care that his dad is kissing him with news camera everywhere and pictures being taken. Hell, that picture of Jonathan kissing him could end up on the front page of the Smallville Ledger and he probably wouldn't care. Even if the entire school called him "Daddy's Little Baby" for the rest of his life. It's almost sickening.   
  
I can hear what they're saying too. Happy babbling about how worried they were, how much they love him, Martha using names like 'sweetheart,' 'baby,' 'honey,' 'pumpkin,' the list goes on. It's almost enough to make me cry. When was the last time I was somebody's baby?  
  
And it keeps going. They scold him for staying in there and how he'd be grounded for life if he ever scares him like that again, but in the same breath, state how proud they are of him. And more babbling about how he could've been hurt, and how sorry they were for yelling at him when he was six and was caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar. My father's loud orders to get me a doctor are nothing compared to Jonathan Kent's rapid fire questions about what happened and if he was hurt.  
  
It's almost funny. Ma and Pa Kent would probably rush Clark to the emergency room over a hangnail. But it takes Dad either a camera jammed in his face or me puking and crying and pissing in my fuckin' bed for him to even pick up the phone and call the doctor.   
  
I snap back to reality as Dad leans in so he's looking directly into my eyes. "Lex, son, are you okay? Do you want some water? I think you should sit down."  
  
And in that second I almost *almost* think I see a look of genuine concern on the old man's face. But just as soon as I see it disappears. What was I thinking? Why would he ever worry about me? All it is is an act. A facade. And I want no part in it.   
  
"I'm fine," I mumble almost incoherently. "I just need to go for a little walk or something. Clear my head." I turn away.  
  
"Lex are you sure?" Dad's hand clamps down on my shoulder. I turn back to him and I'm almost sure I see worry in his eyes. That is, until he gives a backwards glance to the camera trying to see if they're getting all this great fatherly love crap he's spewing out. Maybe if he hadn't looked back I'd have truly believe he was worried. Maybe I wouldn't leave him. Maybe I wouldn't just walk away. Maybe I wouldn't be so envious of Clark Kent and his over-protective parents. Maybe.  
  
I look at his hand. His hand. On my shoulder. It doesn't fit. It's not right.  
  
"Positive," I reply coolly.  
  
"Son, you don't have to be strong for me," Dad lies loud enough for the world to hear. "It's all right. You've been through a lot tonight. You're still in shock." I try to turn my head but he puts his hand on my cheek and guides me back to face him. "Come with me, you need a vacation. I care about you Lex, you know that."  
  
I freeze. The words I'd longed to hear he finally says. And it means nothing. Because it's not for me. It's for the public so they can say "awwwww," call my father sweet and move on with their lives. It's not something he says to me in private where nobody's listening but me. It's ugly, it's disgusting, and I don't want to hear it. Not now, not here.  
  
"No Dad, I'm fine." I turn and walk away again. He doesn't go after me. He quickly explains I need some alone time and that he's flying me to Metropolis in the morning and I'll be recuperating at the mansion by tomorrow evening, back in Smallville in a few days. He then announces that he needs to pick up a few of my personal items and had better get going.   
  
And I keep walking to drown out his voice, but I hear it in my head. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Martha and Jonathan showering Clark with hugs and kisses, apologies and tears. And for a moment, I imagine it's me in their arms, me who's getting loved. But it's not and never will be, so I might as well get used to it. Clark Kent goes on getting loved.  
  
And Lex Luthor walks into the woods, alone. His mother is dead, his father a cold hearted business man who never even said 'I love you.'  
  
Somebody write that down. It belongs on my tombstone.  
  
I shake my head sadly. Oh, Dad, didn't you realize? Didn't you know that all that stuff I said, about family and how important it is, didn't you know that was aimed at you? Didn't you realize that I want a father not an actor.  
  
I want to love him. Because I am so tired of acting, and so ready for love.  
  
*FINIS*  
  
(good, bad, what did you think? Btw, for any people who like my other story "picking up the pieces" a new chapter will be out soon.....i promise! 


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